


Serendipitous

by jennity



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Discovery of Identity, Discovery of Love, F/M, Family Saga, M/M, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Polyamory, TW: implied suicide chapter 1, TW: referenced (offscreen) abuse, Triad - Freeform, bildungsroman, slowburn, tw: blood/gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:24:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7159520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennity/pseuds/jennity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This is the story of three people, almost always at odds, each connected before they ever knew one another. This is the story of three people looking for their identities, their destinies, their legacies. This is the story of loneliness, of misery-loves-company.</i><br/>Three powerful and complicated people finding themselves and each other in a serendipitous situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipitous

**Author's Note:**

> In the world of family sagas, everyone everywhere is connected somehow. But what if Rey is neither a Skywalker, nor a Kenobi? We all assume she has to be someone "important", but have we forgotten? 
> 
> “You’re a slave?”  
> “I’m a person and my name is Anakin.”
> 
> Shmi was a slave, a woman who was considered property. The force gave her Anakin. She was never nobody, because slaves are fucking people, and there is no one in the universe that isn’t Important. No one is nobody. Anakin’s winning the race , earning his freedom, and going off to learn the ways of the force showed us all that those who are considered lesser, who are oppressed and restrained and put down, who are “nobody” can become the most important and powerful people in the galaxy. Shmi’s death was the first thing to push him towards darkness; his love for the woman who gave him life, the woman who was considered nothing and nobody, who suffered through so much before Lars fell in love with her, who deserved so much better than what she got in life.
> 
> Every person is important, and it is not where we come from but what we do that determines the way the Force moves through and shapes us all.
> 
> This is the story of three people, almost always at odds, each connected before they ever knew one another. This is the story of three people looking for their identities, their destinies, their legacies. This is the story of loneliness, of misery-loves-company.  
> Three powerful and complicated people finding themselves and each other in a serendipitous situation.
> 
> (This is reylux, yo.)

The young woman, dirt and dust encrusting her face, tears mixing in the clay and making mud on cheeks, clothes and hands stained red with blood and after-birth,  hugged the bundle tightly to her chest. Desperate to hide the wailing babe from her master before he returns and demands the child for sale, she placed the pink and writhing child beneath the porch of a nearby dwelling, the place appearing to be that of a well to-do family as often there were in the Senate section of the city of Coruscant. She brushed her lips softly to the forehead of the child, tears leaving wet spots on the soft, light hair that the baby swatted at. Hesitating, she touched her lips, treasuring the first and last kiss, the final moments she would ever spend with her newborn. She rushed away to clean herself up and tend to her Master’s will, knowing full well his business wouldn’t keep him away from his ship too long; he was rough and demanding in negotiations nearly as much as he was with his slaves.  Upon his return, she would mournfully confess the child’s birth and bloody, gasping, wailing subsequent death and the hasty burial in the nearby landfill, hoping her true grief at giving her up would mask the truth and convince him that the child he had been expecting to make a pretty penny off of had really faced her demise and was not hidden away from his cruel intentions,  hopefully to be discovered by a rich family who, with any luck, may have a heart somewhere amongst them and their lush living-space.

 

Her shaking, trembling form stumbled, feet dragging slightly as she shuffled back into the shuttle where a startled young man stirred from his studies. Alarmed at her presence and her distraught and bloody appearance, he stood immediately and rushed to her side. 

“Paige? Are you…. Are you well? Shall I fetch father? Where is… where is your...the child?” He was hesitant, face pallid and his normally confident and self-assured demeanor cracked. He ran a shaking hand through his closely-trimmed ginger hair and looked her over with clear concern. 

 

When his father bought her from her sickly, desperate mother, she was only twelve and he was nearly four. She tended to him and tutored him in his studies, making sure his behavior pleased his father and preparing him for when he was to be sent off to the Academy. She had always been kind to him, a soft spot for the boy as she had watched on as he toddled around between the legs of commanding officers. She served as his tutor, nanny and confidant until he was sent off to the Academy, and he wrote letters to her to update his progress and ask how she was faring. Now she stood before him, swaying carefully and smelling of new life and fresh death and palpable despair, the very picture of grief. He’s known death and blood and gore, but  _ birth  _ was a new experience for him. He had never been present at his younger siblings’ births, and as they were all still very young he had very little to do with them after they were whisked away from him the first time he had held them. They stayed cocooned in their nurseries with their simpering mothers. His father was not a man to settle down. He had married Bren’s mother when they had been very young, but she had died in childbirth and he hadn’t deigned any of his three mistresses important enough to wed despite their bearing Bren’s several half-siblings.

 

Paige collapsed in a heap and he caught her up, hastily looking about for help or perhaps to ensure that he would not be scolded for making such physical contact with one of his father’s servants. He was not granted permission to be affectionate to anyone, especially not the woman who had helped raise him. She was a slave, after all, and despite his fondness for her and hers for him, he made sure to not cross the line of Master and servant after he got into a bout of trouble with his father at the age of nine for hugging her in public.  The boy was barely fifteen years old, and Paige was his favorite of the slaves. She never told him the abuses she suffered at the hands of his father, as he was determined to grow up to be just like him and she didn’t want him to be disillusioned or worse, to turn cold and cruel like the old man.   


“No, no-no-no, Master Bren. I’m… the…. it is dead. The cord ‘round the neck… it didn’t…” her voice cracked. “I met with a local who helped me bury it.”

 

Bren looked fairly surprised at this, the concern ebbing away into confusion at the decency of the local helping a servant who appeared a bloody frightful, grimy mess. “May I...may i fetch you some water? You should utilize the shower before Father returns. He would hate to see you a mess, and it would be...Well, I don’t want  you to … I’d hate  for him to return before you’ve cleaned up.” He worried his bottom lip, fists clenched and unclenched, knowing that what he was leaving unsaid was an unpleasant truth he had tried for more than a few years to not acknowledge. He knows full well that she is not treated as well as he would like. If  _ he  _ were in charge of his father’s slaves, Paige would be respected and looked after. Unfortunately, he only returned for holidays and had no sway when it comes to the runnings of the household or the ship. His father was lenient on him, but paid no mind for his preference for his closest friend. He blinked slowly, brow furrowed, realizing that yes, he did consider Paige to be one of his only  _ true  _ friends. He helped her rise carefully to her feet before she started limping at a slow pace. The young woman before him flinched and made her way towards the ‘fresher. 

 

He wanted to reach out and help her, take her arm and guide her wavering steps, but minded his distance, the gasping woman hugging herself tightly as she faltered hesitantly in her  path. She took a shaking breath and steadied herself after swaying slightly. Her blood-soaked clothing, modest tunic ripped,  apron dripping wet and smelling of sweat and must, flowing skirt covered with afterbirth all looked quite ready to be thrown into the nearest trash compactor, the laundering she normally took charge of would clearly not recover her rags.

 

 The copper taste of blood permeated the air. He tried desperately not to show his distaste by the scrunch of his nose, as he  _ should _ be unaffected by blood and gore as a soldier. His father would be ashamed of him if he winced away from broken, bleeding flesh, and he steadied his breathing to quell the churning of his stomach. He didn’t want to upset the poor girl more than she already was. She had nurtured him when he was young, the very least he could do was return the favour by helping her clean up. He waited anxiously outside the ‘fresher door as he heard the sounds of water and muffled sobbing. When she finally emerged, her skin was red and raw from scrubbing away the mess and the memories she was trying desperately to keep down and away from the surface.  She was dressed in a simple grey dress, and he hesitated before reaching out and touching her shoulder. “I’m… I’m sorry about the child, Paige.”   
  


She inhaled sharply and bit down hard on her lip, preventing tears from spilling over. She then reached over and hugged the young boy. “Me too, Bren,” she whispered in a shaky exhale and then pulled away quickly as if contact would burn her. 

 

It wasn’t long after that his father had returned to the ship in a sour mood, the negotiations having hit an empasse. He took one look at the distraught but now cleaned and significantly slimmer Paige. 

“Where is it?” he barked. 

Her eyes fell to her feet and she didn’t respond immediately. He looked to his son for explanation. Bren didn’t let Paige go through the pain of explaining it again. 

“It wasn’t breathing. We’ve buried it nearby, Father,” he glanced up at the man who grunted in response, eyes narrowing and suspiciously darting between his young son and his slave. 

“Is that so?” He approached Paige, unbelieving,  and she winced away as if he would hit her. Bren straightened his back and clenched his fist. He knew that expression. His Father wasn’t buying the story and was going to interrogate her for more details, and not in a kind way.

“It  _ is _ , Father,” he insisted, standing in front of the man and blocking his way to the young woman.    
“ I held it. Came out quiet, no movement,” he lied easily, Paige stiffening in shock at his words. He continued, “ We took it outside and buried it  before I instructed Paige to clean herself up. I wouldn’t lie to you about it Father. I know your plans were already in place, but there’s nothing we could have done. It was already too late.” He maintained a stony expression, imitating his Father’s own poker face. Brendol Hux Sr. gave a curt nod, then, and withdrew a step. 

“Next time something like this happens, I want to inspect the property first,” he grunted and pointed at his son, “even damaged goods can still be worth something, son.” Paige let out a strangled sob before running into the ‘fresher again, and, Bren realized wincing, dry heaved until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

“ _Weak_ ,” his father muttered, disgusted by the humanity she dared to express. “If you can’t keep your legs closed, you pay the consequences,” he growled loudly at her  through the door and she choked on a wail.   
“Father, it was still her _child_ ,” he hissed,  “show some compassion.” Bren didn’t mean to snap, and his jaw clenched before his eyes widened and he realized he’d spoken that aloud. His Father paused, straightened, and gestured his son to walk with him. When the young boy approached, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and gripped _far_ too tight. 

“That  _ girl _  is  _ not _ your friend, Son. She is  _ my property _ , and so is anything she owns. If she acts like a whore and it yields me a new sale, by all means. I feed her, I clothe her, I take care of her medical expenses. There is  _ nothing _ that I cannot take from her. She is  _ lucky _ I treat her as well as I do. You’d do well to remember that.”

The young ginger narrowed his eyes angrily but refrained from speaking, biting his tongue until it bled before stalking off to his quarters. In frustration, he picked up a book he’d been reading, one about less-than-friendly interrogation techniques. Like father, like son, he thought with distaste before chucking it at the wall and collapsing on his bed. It wasn’t the first time he’d challenged his father, but it was the first time on her behalf. Normally he didn’t interfere, no matter how angry his Father’s behavior had made him. He knew the man was technically correct, she could have been treated a whole lot worse, but he shuddered to think of it. The lack of humanity was shameful and his stomach churned after having witnessed it. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to become that kind of monster. 

 

* * *

 

 

Not even a month later, he was preparing to return to the Academy.  Uniform pressed and perfectly placed over his lanky frame, every hair in place, he ventured out of his quarters with his bag hung over his left shoulder and eyes darting around looking for Paige to say his goodbyes. He didn’t know when he’d next return to see her, as he was to stay on in school at Arkanis and she was to return to his Father’s manor. He couldn’t find her in any of the living spaces or the kitchenette, so he pressed his way through the Servant’s quarters. Her bed was neatly made, the room spotless. He heard movement behind the small ‘fresher door and he knocked. 

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” he spoke confidently through the door. “You should expect a letter within a week. I promise to write more this time, I’m sorry to have to leave you again.”

He heard her talking, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying; it sounded like she was speaking another language and she sounded like she was sniffling as if she’d just been crying. She hadn’t been the same since that day on Coruscant. She’d mostly stayed out of the way of his Father  _ and _ Bren, and, though it stung, he understood why she would want space after such a dreadful day. 

He knocked lightly again, pausing before saying, “May I come in, just to see you before I leave?” 

He stepped back as the door slid open, and expecting her to be before him he looked around, baffled, until his eyes caught her’s at his feet. Her skin was pale, her hair sticking to her forehead with sweat and tears. She reached out to him, and he crouched down, feeling her forehead. He caught a whiff of the stench of sick, she had evidently not been feelinging well. 

“Bren,” she croaked, her lids heavy and eyes sorrowful. “I’m so sorry, Bren.” He looked taken aback, brushing her cheek with his thumb. 

“You have nothing to be...what happened, Paige?”

“Letter,” she pointed with a tremoring hand. “For you.” 

 

When he tried to haul her up from the cold floor, she protested in a string of nonsense gibberish, and he had just decided to call for help from one of the other servants when her hand squeezed his and she pressed the back of it to her cheek before kissing it. 

“Thank you, sweet boy,” she half-sobbed. “Remember me. Find her.” 

And with that she leaned her head back against the wall and her eyes drifted shut. He prodded her gently, confused by her words and concerned at her behavior. 

“Paige?” He shook her shoulders, no starting to panic. “PAIGE,” he shouted, realizing she had gone limp, not just relaxed into sleep. He lifted her hand and dropped it, and it fell to the floor with sickening thud. He groped for her pulse point on her neck, and there was none.

 

He stood, frantic to find out how this had happened. He found the letter she directed him to before sweeping her body up off the floor and into the main living space. He hadn’t realized he was crying until another servant had asked him what had happened and is  _ he _ alright. He wanted to snap that he wasn’t the one  _ not breathing _ , but he couldn’t find it in him to speak. He laid her gently on the couch and stepped away as the other servant ran to fetch help. He looked at her and felt a sudden wave of loneliness. She had been his only true friend, the only person he could really count on since he was a child. And...she was gone. He’d never see her again. He backed out of the room numbly, his eyes fixed on her pallid, still form, prone and vulnerable and...  he could no longer breathe within the slate-grey walls of the ship and he stumbled hastily down the ramp and out until he had distanced himself from the only person who ever truly loved him. 

 

If she was gone, his only reason for  _ feeling  _ was too. This pain that threatened to overwhelm him surely wasn’t worth whatever else he could feel for someone, and he was determined to block it out. It wouldn’t earn him anything from his Father or classmates; rather it’d strengthen him if he closed himself off. He cringed at the thought, thinking of how disappointed she would be to see him as cruel, callous and bitter as his father. But, he inhaled sharply, she wasn’t here to be disappointed now, was she?  He clutched the letter in his pocket. 

 

* * *

 

 

It took him over two weeks to bring himself to read it, long past her body’s removal and his training resumed. By then, his father had angrily accused him of assisting her acquisition of illicit drugs that she used to hasten her death. He scowled,  _ yeah, as if he’d help her kill herself.  _  When he finally brought himself to read the missive, his knuckles went as pale as his face and he crumpled it and shoved it between the leaves of a book  she had given to him when he was very young; one that she would read to him at bedtime about magic and afterlife and the power that touched and shaped everyone. He scowled and shoved the book to the very back of his bookcase. It was all  **bullshit** . There was no magic, no force of life and love that helped form a destiny for each person. The force was a  _ fairy tale _ and she clung to it because her life was  _ empty  _ and  _ miserable _ . She had no one but him and that baby, and now it was gone and he wasn’t enough. He couldn’t save the only person who had ever treated him with kindness. He didn’t see the point of hoping for anything other than what was already expected for him. He was alone now, and he would feel that loneliness keenly and use it as fuel to form it into a power that could overcome  _ anything. _ He needed to control his life and his emotions, so he would start seeking the power and control that his father had promised him. His eyes flickered to the case and he stalked away from the books to go train with cadets for an excuse to beat someone to a pulp.

 

> _“My Bren,_ _  
> __  
> _ _I have watched you grow up and have loved you since the day you stumbled into my arms. I won’t see you again, but I’ll always love you. Be strong. Survive. And don’t be like him just because your name and his expectations demand it. Find your own way, and you will be the man I know you are: powerful and strong and compassionate._
> 
> _ The day you found me, you saved me twice over You saved me from his wrath and from my own shame. You saved my daughter. I didn’t bury her, Bren. She wasn’t gone. I left her so she could survive, so she could live. I wanted to raise her to be as good and wonderful as you, but I couldn’t keep her no matter what I did. I gave her her best chance, and you helped me with that. I’m sorry to have lied, and I’m sorry that I won’t be here for you any longer. Please remember me, and please find her. Please, find her and love her like I should have been able to. _
> 
> _ All my love, and may the Force be always with you. _
> 
> _ -Yours devotedly, _
> 
> _ Paige.” _

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a plot bunny in my head for weeks now , and I’ve finally started writing it. 
> 
> Looking for a Beta if anyone is interested . :)
> 
> She hasn't gotten her name yet, but I think folks can hopefully place who the babe is, and maybe even which kindly senate-based family finds her. ;)
> 
> *I know his canon name isn’t Brendol, and that’s his father’s name, but I’m going to make him a Junior for the sake of ease and because tbqh I feel like Brendol Hux Sr (at least the version in my story) is self-important enough to name his son after him and then expect him to rule the galaxy with an iron his in his name. I’ll refer to him strictly as Bren in the story, though.
> 
> To make it easy for folks, here's when each were born in relation to the Battle of Endor:  
> Paige - 12 years BBE  
> Hux - 4 BBE  
> Poe - 2 BBE  
> Ben - 1 year ABE  
> Finn - 7 years ABE  
> Rey - 11 years ABE
> 
> Next chapter we'll find out how Ben and his family tie into this story!
> 
> Comments & Concrit welcome and super appreciated. Unfortunately I don't have a mass of written text waiting for editing and posting, so it may be a week or more between updates, but I'll try to get it all done as soon as possible.
> 
> I hope you like it!


End file.
